


Maybe Your Pride Will Keep You Warm

by fugaziclash



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Intersexuality, Jotun!Loki, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:12:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fugaziclash/pseuds/fugaziclash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He should have listened to Pepper. </i> </p>
<p> <i>If he had, Tony would probably be holed up in his workshop right now, a slice of pizza in one hand, AC/DC blaring nice and loud and the plans for something ridiculously awesome underway. Instead, he’s standing, in temperatures cold enough to make a polar bear weep, preparing to face off with Papa Smurf’s homicidal giant of a brother. </i></p>
<p>AU in which a Jotun, not Odin, found Loki abandoned as a babe and raised him within Jotunheim. Note - I am aware that it is unlikely that Loki was Laufey's heir, this story does not assume that, and an explanation for Loki's position as king shall be given.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rule the first - Always listen to Pepper.

He should have listened to Pepper. 

If he had, Tony would probably be holed up in his workshop right now, a slice of pizza in one hand, AC/DC blaring nice and loud and the plans for something ridiculously awesome underway. Instead, he’s standing, in temperatures cold enough to make a polar bear weep, preparing to face off with Papa Smurf’s homicidal giant of a brother. 

“Sir,” Jarvis starts, sounding a bit distorted. “I’m afraid I have to inform you that systems are currently operating at 5% capacity. All non-essential functions have been disabled.” 

Tony watches through the suit’s visor as his opponent flexes a bicep the size of his waist. There is a low rumble of anticipation from the gathered crowd of blue, deadly-looking giants. Right at the back, Tony can just make out a cluster of individuals wearing SHEILD issued arctic gear. He takes some pleasure in the fact that they seem pretty miserable too. 

“So, repulsors-”

“All weapons are deemed non-essential, sir. Internal heating is also being lowered to ensure continued mobility.” 

Great. So now he gets to be miserable, cold, _and_ soon to be dead. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed Jarv, but that guy over there looks like he wants to eat me. I think weapons are pretty essential, given the situation.” 

The only response he gets is a faint hiss and crackle. 

“…Jarvis?”

Damn. Apparently Jarvis wasn’t essential either. 

Before Tony can make any attempt to re-activate his trusty AI, a sudden hush falls over the crowd. Tony looks up to see a slender, refined figure walk out and take his place on a high, icy throne overlooking the combat ring. Blue, like the rest of them, but smaller, lithe and almost beautiful in a cold, deadly way. Tony feels himself shiver as red eyes fix upon him, seeming to stare right through the suit to Tony himself. It’s not that he’s unsettled, of course, just that it’s starting to get really damn cold. 

The crowd sinks to their knees in a show of deference, as does Tony’s opponent. Tony wonders for a moment whether he should follow suit, but he’s got the nasty suspicion that if he was to kneel he might not be able to get the suit back standing again anytime soon. Luckily, the figure on the throne (Loki, it must be) seems to find Tony’s defiance amusing, albeit not amusing enough to spare him from fighting Big-and-Icy over there. 

“You may rise.” Loki announces, in smooth, cultured tones. He sounds on the verge of boredom, like he has to watch fights to the death every second day and he got over the novelty of it a long time ago. The Jotun rise to their feet, and Tony goes back to feeling ridiculously small. 

To compensate, he adopts a fighting stance, trying to ignore the creaking of the suit as it fights against the ice that has formed in every crevice. He might not be giant-sized, or insanely muscular, or have even a working suit, but he’s still Tony Fucking Stark, and he’s not going down without one hell of a fight. 

From his position on the icy throne, Loki leans forward slightly, a faint smile curling his lips. Somehow, he has the feeling that this fight might be of more interest than the usual petty squabbles. The mortal in the metal suit has not yet called for mercy, or forgiveness, as those that faced Hjálmgerðr were generally prone to. No, he seemed positively fearless in the fact of near certain defeat. Loki knew that Hjálmgerðr expected to win this fight, or the brute would not have issued the challenge, but Loki finds himself not so sure. He calls out into the cool air, “Let the honour-match commence!” and settles back to watch the show. 

Down below, Tony stands his ground as the huge form of his opponent races towards him, ice cracking underfoot. His mind races through calculations, dismissing one futile plan of attack after another and wishing that this wasn’t happening. 

Damn it, he really should have listened to Pepper.


	2. Rule the Second – Do not get involved in the affairs of Gods (or SHIELD)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony meddles, and SHIELD have some Asgardian visitors.

“What is that?” 

Tony jumps almost out of his skin, hurriedly pausing the feed he’d been watching on a StarkPad. He looks over at Pepper, then at her shoes. 

“How do you do that? High heels and you make no noise. Have you been taking lessons from Natasha? Because I thought we agreed that she was an example of excess sneakiness that should not be followed…” 

Unfortunately, Pepper is an old pro at dealing with Tony, and knows well to tune him out when he starts his patented distraction techniques. She leans in over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the paused image on the screen before Tony can hide it. 

“Is that Fury?” She doesn’t sound approving. 

“No, nope. Uh, didn’t you know, he’s got a brother that’s in movies. A twin brother. This one’s about snakes, Very scary, you wouldn’t like it at all.” 

Pepper gives a long suffering sigh. “Right. And his brother also lost an eye?” 

“It was a very dangerous household. Bad parenting.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “Hmmm. So, this movie…it’s about snakes and SHEILD diplomatic meetings?” 

Damn. Busted. He gives in. Pepper is just too good. 

“Okay, so I might have hacked into SHIELD’s CCTV a little.” He holds up a hand. “Hey, they’re having a party and I didn’t get an invite.”

“So you decided to spy on them like a creepy stalker?” 

“Well, yes. But it’s their own fault for having-”

“-amateurs build their systems, yes, I know.” Pepper takes a seat on the couch, kicking off her heels. “Jarvis, would you kindly display the footage on the main tv?” 

_”Of course, Miss Potts. Would you also care for some refreshments? I have that pistachio frozen yoghurt that you like.”_

Pepper smiles. “Thank you Jarvis, You’re a gentleman. I sometimes wonder just how Tony, of all people, managed to create you.” 

_”To be honest, Miss Potts, I sometimes find myself asking the very same question.”_

Tony rolls his eyes at his AI’s smug tone. “You know, Jarv, just ‘cause me and Pepper split, that doesn’t mean you’re in with a shot.” 

His tone is light, but he still finds himself holding his breath for a slight moment, until Pepper’s light laugh sounds and she stretches her feet out on the sofa, using Tony as a footrest. They were in a good place now, but Tony still remembers miserable months locked up in his workshop, mourning the death of the one relationship he’d actually thought might have a shot. At one point, he’d gone to do minor modifications on the Mark VI and ended up smashing the hell out of it with a super-reinforced hammer (he’s calling it a strength test, one that the suit had failed. Roll on Mark VII…)

Tony relaxes back into the sofa. “Oh, and, Jarvis? I’ll take some popcorn while you’re at it.” 

_“Very good sir. Shall I have it brought over so as not to deprive Miss Potts of her footrest?”_

“Yeah, you do that.” Tony glances over at the SHIELD CCTV feed, currently frozen on screen, then at Pepper. “So, you’re not planning on killing me for the hacking and spying and stuff?”

Pepper considers him for a moment. “I didn’t say that.” She cuts Tony off before he can respond. “ I know that if I read you the riot act now, you’ll just wait until I’ve left to watch it, in which case I wouldn’t be able to tell you just how stupid whatever stupid plan you’re going to come up with after watching it is.” A small table wheels over, laden with movie snacks. Pepper grabs a tub and spoon. “Plus, this way I get frozen yoghurt.” 

Tony laughs and grabs his popcorn. “How exactly do you keep everyone else from discovering your evil genius?” Pepper gives him a _wouldn’t you like to know_ look, and he gives a mock groan in response before turning to the television. 

“Right, Jarvis, let’s see what Papa Fury’s up to this time.” 

****

_Meanwhile, at SHIELD HQ…_

Nick Fury liked to think of himself as damn near unflappable. Dealing with superheroes and secret agents was his day job, and that pretty much meant that not a single one of his employees could be called ‘well-adjusted’ or easy to work with (with the notable exception of Coulson, naturally). Hell, he interacted with Tony Stark on a regular basis, and hadn’t killed the guy yet. Fury was a pro, he could deal with whatever shit was fired his way. 

However, he had to admit that even his exceptional abilities had been tested since this morning, when Coulson had phoned to let him know that the Norse God of Thunder had touched down in New Mexico and was demanding an audience. 

Right now, said ‘God’ (because really, this ‘Thor’ seemed more like a surfer dude in a bad production of ‘Julius Caesar’) was in the conference room SHIELD reserved for diplomatic meetings, accompanied by his hangers-on. Fury remembers the name of the woman, Sif, as she’d been vaguely useful thus far. He’s forgotten the names of the other three, and so is internally calling them Gimli, Casanova and Jackie Chan. At least if he slips up they won’t get the references.

“Asgard is worried.” Thor growls, like that’s meant to mean anything at all to Fury. “There is a new king in Jotunheim, and we must know whether he poses us a threat.” 

Fury is about to ask for a translation, when Coulson pipes up from behind him. “…Jotunheim. You mean the land of the Frost Giants?” 

Of course, Coulson would be an expert on Norse mythology. Was there anything he _didn’t_ know? Thor too, seems surprised, blinking a couple of times before continuing. 

“Yes. We call them Jotun. They are mindless, savage monsters, friends to no one. Your Midgard would have fallen to their terror years ago, had Asgard not intervened.” 

“What the hell is a Midgard?” Fury asks Coulson under his breath. 

“Their name for Earth.” comes the reply. Fury scoffs at that. 

“Like hell, we would have fallen. I ain’t seen no _frost giants_ attacking Earth, and believe me, I’d have noticed.” 

Thor looks confused again. It seems like it might be his default expression. “I assumed that you fought in the great war.” He says, whilst staring intently at Fury’s eyepatch for some reason. Fury does not appreciate that, not at all. “Are you not Midgard’s defenders?” 

Sif leans in close to Thor, whispering something about time differences and mortal life spans. Thor no longer looks as though he might smash something, but still seems vaguely perplexed, ‘whispering’ back, “But it was scarce a millennia ago!” 

Coulson steps forward, clearing his throat. The Asgardians look to him. 

“You mentioned a new Jotun king. Does he pose a threat to Midgard?”

Fury decides to just let Coulson run with this one. Hell, he might even have to give him a raise after this. 

“We do not truly know.” admits Thor, in deep, heavy tones. “The Jotuns’ former king, Laufey, was brutal and villainous, but he was truly bested by the Allfather and the Casket taken from him. We had an accord, as much as you can with monsters. He would not challenge Asgard, as he knew to do so would mean Jotunheim’s complete destruction. This new king, we do not know. Rumours have reached Asgard that he is powerful in ways Laufey was not, that he is rebuilding Jotunheim from its ruins.” 

“ _I_ heard that he’s not a giant at all, just a weak little runt.” drawls Casanova. Sif directs a glare his way, and he shuts his mouth. Fury starts wondering just what Sif and the Black Widow would make of each other. He sincerely hopes they never meet. 

Coulson ignores the interjection, consummate professional that he is. “This new king, he’s threatened to invade?” 

Thor, Gimli and Casanova laugh. “Do not be foolish. Jotun do not threaten. They know no common decency or honour. If we wait for threats, we only give them time to plot evil.” 

Fury decides to cut in, because god this is getting old fast. “Okay, let’s cut the storytime. What exactly do you want from us? If you hate these guys so much, why are you here and not attacking them already?” 

Thor looks somewhat sheepish. “Fath- Odin deems it unwise to commence a war at this time. He wishes to first attempt diplomacy.” He says the last word like it leaves a dirty taste in his mouth. 

Fury taps his foot against the floor. “Still not quite seeing what help we can be here…” 

Thor sighs. “The Odinsleep nears, the Allfather cannot leave Asgard. And I…” he trails off. Gimli picks up the slack. 

“Last time we went to Jotunheim, Thor bested a great many Jotun. It was fine sport…they may not believe we come in peace.” 

Fury raises an eyebrow. “You don’t say.” 

Thor nods. “I do, friend Fury. But the Jotun would not suspect Midgardians. If you were to send your finest warriors, they could witness the true state of affairs in Jotunheim before reporting back to us. If this king is as powerful as is told, then Asgard will strike before he can gather his strength. If he is weak, then we may be able to ensure that Jotunheim is no longer a concern to any of us.” 

It’s getting to be more and more clear just why Thor has been rejected to lead the diplomacy team. Fury finds himself somewhat uneasy, and that takes some doing. He shares a look with Coulson. “Why, exactly, should we do this?” 

Thor puffs up, hand tightening around the handle of that massive hammer that should really have made his arm fall off a while back. “Asgard is a powerful ally.” he rumbles, and Fury is pretty sure he hears correctly the unspoken warning. Yeah, they’d be a powerful ally, and as an enemy, they’d crush the Earth flat. 

They were nothing more than a pawn in all of this. And Fury really, _really_ hated being a pawn. But what other choice did they have? 

“Let’s just say we were to accept. What would we be getting ourselves into?” 

Thor grins, anger gone in an instant. He’s starting to remind Fury of a poorly trained Labrador puppy. And he hates dogs. 

“Midgard’s strongest warriors would accompany us to the Bifrost. Heimdall will transport us to Jotunheim. Once there, I, Sif and the Warriors Three will set up camp at a safe distance, whilst your Midgardian warriors shall travel into Jotunheim’s main city and seek an audience with the king.” 

Casanova snorts. “Like you can call that hunk of ice a city.” Fury actually thinks he sees Sif stab the irritant with something this time. He hopes so. 

“They will have diplomatic protection?” Coulson queries. 

Thor nods. “Aye. Even the Jotun would not be so stupid as to provoke a war over something as silly as killing a few Midgardians.” 

Sif looks as though she might like to stab Thor too, were he not royalty and in the presence of company. Fury is pretty sure that the second factor is the more decisive of the two. She hisses a low, “You can’t say that, Thor!” instead. Thor merely laughs. 

“Do not fret, Sif, the Midgardian’s know I mean them no harm!” 

Fury gives him his best ‘I’d like to flay you alive’ stare, but Thor seems oddly unaffected. Then something occurs to him. 

“Wait, just how cold is this _Jotunheim_ place? I’m not sending my best guys out there to freeze to death.” 

Thor shrugs. “I will be wearing my winter cloak.” 

“It could be likened to your Midgardian ‘North Pole’.” suggests Gimli. Thor pats him on the back.

“Volstagg speaks wisely. It is indeed similar. Ice and wind and much snow.” 

Coulson leans in towards Fury. “We have some prototype snowsuits and mobiles that were prepared for the Abominable Snowman incident last spring. They’re not complete though. Funding fell through.” 

Fury put one hand to his brow, trying to rub away the quickly developing headache. If there was one word he hated more than any other, it was ‘funding’. Suddenly, he had a horrible feeling about how this was going to go. 

With a sigh, he turns back to Thor and the others. “Right. We’ll need at least a week to figure out how we can make this work. We can give you accommodation, if you need it-”

“Nay, the Bifrost will return us to Asgard. You will have your week, then we shall return ready for Jotunheim.” 

Apparently, that’s it settled. With one last nod, all five Asgardians turn and leave, almost bowling over the guard stationed at the door. 

Fury sags against the table, giving Coulson a despairing look. “Do you want to tell me how the hell we manage to get involved in these things?” 

Coulson grins. “Just lucky, I guess. Any ideas how we’re going to come up with ‘Midgard’s finest warriors’ and a few million dollars worth of arctic gear in a week?” 

Fury has an idea. It’s an idea he really doesn’t want to have to consider, but there it is inside his head. Like a bad omen, his phone starts ringing, the claxon ringtone identifying the caller. Fury answers. 

“Stark.”

“So, you’ll never guess what happened. I was just sitting here with my bags of money and freeze-resistant suit of armor, when I suddenly thought, hey, why don’t I give Nick Fury a call?”

Fury closes his working eye and give a long, drawn out sigh. This is going to be one hell of a long week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling guilty for the teasery length of the first part, so here's something more substantial. Mainly essential stuff to get the plot going, I'm afraid, but we'll be back to fun and games in Jotunheim soon. 
> 
> PS - Next update will probably be in a couple of days time.


	3. Rule the Third - Team Bonding is important (no Tony, not that kind)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before our intrepid adventurers set off for Jotunheim! In it, Tony is totally prepared (no, really) and Bruce is more than slightly bemused.

_Four days till departure…_

“I thought you were preparing?” 

Tony opens one eye, not bothering to move himself from his very comfortable position sprawled out across the sofa. Then he figures that he might as well make use of the interruption, sitting up slightly and reaching for his drink. 

“This _is_ preparing.” 

Pepper pokes the exposed sole of one foot with a finger. 

“And how exactly does lying on a sofa, listening to Led Zeppelin and drinking a martini help you prepare for months in a frozen wilderness?” 

“Mental preparation. I’m saying goodbye to my true loves; lounging around, rock music and alcohol, before our painful separation.” He takes in Peppers expression, hurriedly adding, “…and you! That’s why I’m taking you to dinner tonight.” 

“No, you can’t.” Pepper blurts, catches herself, then blushes. Tony doesn’t think he’s ever seen Pepper _blush_ before. It’s strange and unsettling and… 

He bolts fully upright. “…you have a date tonight!” 

“It’s not a _date_. I have a business meeting, that’s all.” 

“Nu-uh. You’ve got a date. You’re wearing your ‘first date dress’, and I know you don’t go anywhere near those shoes unless you really want to make an impression.” He takes a drink, smug. “Face it, you can’t fool me. I know you too well.” 

Pepper shakes her head. “No, I’m meeting Coulson, and we’re going over Stark Industries’ contribution to this coming mission, and maybe discussing how to prevent _you_ from being frozen into a block of ice or ending up on the wrong side of a Thunder God’s hammer.” 

“Well that’s that settled then.” Tony reaches the bottom of his drink. He places the empty glass down on the table, trying to calculate the value of having another drink balanced against the hassle of actually going to the bar and making one. One of these days he’s going to program Dummy to mix cocktails, just you wait and see. 

“That’s what settled?” 

Making his mind up, Tony reluctantly pulls himself to his feet, heading over to the bar. Pepper follows, perching on a stool as he mixes a drink. 

“It’s definitely a date. I mean, _planning_ and being all efficient….pretty sure that counts as foreplay with you two.” He anticipates Pepper’s attempt to hit him and dodges smoothly, pouring out the cocktail he’d been mixing and placing it in front of her. It’s her favourite, so she lets him off the hook. 

“SHIELD are making good headway with their arctic equipment, you know. Have you started adjusting the suit?” 

Tony shrugs. “Don’t have to. Jarvis, give Pepper a run down of the Mark VII’s cold weather capabilities.” 

_“Certainly, sir. According to my calculations, the Mark VII suit will be able to operate at full capacity, maintaining a comfortable internal temperature, for five years in conditions matching the coldest recorded on Earth. Its capabilities to withstand, without deterioration, temperatures recorded in deep space are less certain, but based on available data it could operate successfully for an anticipated four months.”_

“See?” Tony crows. “I’m prepared.” 

 

_Two days till departure…_

Bruce taps his fingers against one knee, sounding out a nervous rhythm. His gaze quickly maps out the room, taking note of all available exits. To his distaste, there’s only one door to this room, and a guard stands by it. Of course, Bruce knows that if he were to ask, he’d be informed that the guard is just there for procedure, or in case one of the many villains SHIELD has managed to annoy over the years decides to pay a visit…but he’s pretty sure that if he was to try and run from this room right now, he wouldn’t get very far. Nope, he’d just end up sitting right back here again. 

He’s feeling on edge in a way he hasn’t for a while, not since he decided to get away from everything and banish himself to small Indian villages, where he could be helpful whilst remaining unknown. He’d liked it, it had helped him to calm his personal demons, or rather, that one particularly vocal personal demon of his that took his anger and smashed and hurt and destroyed. He hadn’t given in to The Other Guy in months, and had even been considering heading into the hustle and bustle of Calcutta, because he could help more people there and actually, for once he was feeling like he might almost have a handle on things. 

And then SHIELD had arrived, and now he was here. They’d given him a choice, but not much of one. Agent Coulson had calmly and politely informed Bruce that SHIELD had been monitoring him for the entire duration of the period in which Bruce had thought himself unnoticed and off the map. He’d reminded Bruce that there were a number of individuals and organisations that were more than a little interested in The Hulk (not Bruce, not even SHIELD really want Bruce). And then he’d suggested that, were Bruce to help SHIELD out this time, it could be possible that they might be willing to call off their surveillance and allow him to properly fall off the radar. 

Of course, coming from SHIELD that probably just meant that they would continue to keep tabs on Bruce, but that they wouldn’t let anyone know about it. It saddens Bruce slightly that he knows this and still has to accept the deal offered. People generally don’t want the Hulk for good reasons, and he doesn’t think he could deal with much more weighing on his conscience. If working with SHIELD means that they will keep his future location to themselves, well, even that’s worth it. 

He quickly takes a look over at the others also gathered in the room, trying not to be caught doing so. As awkward as this silence is, he doesn’t really feel like answering any questions. Especially not to the glittering symbol of American patriotism currently sitting across the table from him. He can just imagine how uncomfortable that conversation would be, “Oh, hi, I’m Steve Rogers, I fought Nazis and inspired a nation, how about you?”… “Well, I performed a botched experiment on myself and now I sometimes turn into a rage monster and indiscriminately smash things.” “Oh…right…”

He thinks it might even be easier to talk to the two SHIELD agents also in the room, if only because typically, the kind of people that end up as SHIELD’s best agents tend to have a somewhat chequered past themselves. Although he doubts either of them have ever destroyed Harlem before. He notices how aware they are of him, and realizes that, unlike Steve Rogers, they know well who he is and what the Other Guy can do. In a way, he’s kind of glad. At least, if the worst happens, they’ll be prepared. Saying that, a very, very small part of Bruce, too miniscule to ever get its way, thinks it would be kind of funny to leap to his feet and yell, just to see if the two of them would both try and leap in front of the other at the same moment. He’s prevented from even half-heartedly considering it though, as the door swings open and in Nick Fury stomps in, followed by Agent Coulson.

Fury’s eye takes them in. He doesn’t look too impressed. Then again, Bruce isn’t sure that Fury has expressions that aren’t varying degrees of pissed off. This one is maybe a two (out of ten) on the scale, he just looks as though he’d really rather not be here. Or that he’d like for them not to be there. Bruce can sympathise with both, he’s much rather be across the globe right now, actually doing something useful. 

Fury opens his mouth. “Right. Glad you could make it.” If Bruce wasn’t so polite, he’d have rolled his eyes. Yeah, because he really had a choice. “I’m sure you‘d all like to know why you’ve been invited here.” 

Bruce notices Steve Rogers lean forward in his seat. He wonders if it’s a military habit, snapping to attention when orders are about to be given, as he hadn’t looked much happier than Bruce to be here before. The other two also look alert, ready to assimilate knowledge. Bruce fiddles with the edge of the piece of paper on the table in front of him, feeling entirely out of place. 

Fury places his hands down on the table, leaning over. “You’re here because the world needs you. And because you have been identified as the only individuals capable of carrying out this task. This may come as a surprise to you, but-”

“We are not alone!” 

Bruce looks up from the paper he’d been absentmindedly shredding to see Tony Stark slide into the seat next to his, sunglasses on and an amused grin on the face Bruce recognises from numerous scientific journals and, yeah, a few gossip magazines (well, it does take an awful long time to reach India without flying, and not all of his reading could be intellectually stimulating). 

“Thank you, Mr Stark.” Fury’s glare doesn’t match his words, but either Stark doesn’t notice, or that’s what he was going for in the first place. 

“No problem Nicky.” Stark turns to the rest of them. He seems to have expected the two SHIELD agents, but Bruce notices him take a slight double-take when he recognises the one and only Captain America. Then, for some reason, he _winks_ at Bruce. “Has he filled you in on how we’re to be the referees in a dirty hockey match between gods and snowmen?” 

Steve Rogers looks perplexed. “….what?” 

“What Stark _meant_ to say, is that we’ve been entrusted by some very powerful and important allies with a diplomatic mission.” 

Tony Stark leans in and whispers to Bruce, like a kid telling secrets. “By allies, he means asshole gods.” 

Fury hears, and to Bruce’s surprise, actually confirms the sentiment, “We do have some concerns.”

Stark holds up a disk. “So how about you just show them your secret pow-wow with the aliens and they’ll know what they’re in for?” 

One of the SHIELD agents, the woman with red hair, leans forward, aiming a very sharp look Starks way. “You have a recording of a confidential SHIELD meeting?” 

“Er….yep. Lovely to see you again by the way, Natasha. Killed anyone with your thighs recently?" 

"Not for a while. Are you volunteering?" 

Tony goes slightly pale before turning to Fury. "So, movie time?”

Fury looks like he might be about to turn him down, but then Steve Rogers speaks up with quiet courtesy. “I wouldn’t mind seeing these guys, if we’re meant to be working with them. It might help us, you know, get our heads around all of this.” 

Of course, then Fury _has_ to agree, because who’s going to reject a polite request from _Captain America_? Coulson takes the disc from Stark, and sets about putting it on. As he does, Tony leans over to Bruce again. 

“Made me feel bad, putting it on DVD, but for a super-high-tech spy agency SHIELD are, well, not very high tech. I’m Tony, by the way.” 

He holds out a hand, which Bruce shakes a touch awkwardly. “Bruce Banner.” 

Tony laughs. “Oh, I know who you are. Fury never said they were bringing a bona-fide genius on board.” He pauses. “Well, other than me.” 

Bruce can feel himself blushing slightly. “I’m not…er…I don’t think they want me for my work on genome replication.” 

“Nah, they’re not bright enough for that. Probably more to do with the way you turn into a big green angry giant. Which, by the way, is also very cool.” 

Bruce frowns. He can’t say he agrees. “Uh…thanks?” 

He’s saved from more confusing conversation when the recording starts playing on the projector screen at one end of the room. The further into the footage they get, the more uneasy Bruce starts to feel. He breathes in deeply, and watches the others to distract himself as the recording cuts off with the exit of the Asgardians. Stark, having seen it before, isn’t giving away much, but he spots the agent he’d heard referred to as ‘The Hawk’ whispering something to Natasha (presuming that’s actually her name and not some in-joke on Stark’s part). Steve Rogers seems deep in contemplation, a slight frown creasing his brow. Unlike the others, who seem angered by the Asgardian’s words, he just looks, well, depressed. Like it’s bringing back memories he’s rather not recall. 

“Do we start out as neutral, or have we declared for the Asgardians?” ‘The Hawk’ asks. 

Fury sits down at the head of the table, steepling his hands in front of him. “We’re going in there at the request of Asgard. But we are not taking sides. This is a fact finding mission. Once we know more about these ‘Jotuns’ we’ll be able to assess any possible alliances.” 

Bruce is pretty sure that, in SHIELD-y diplomatic speak, Fury has just suggested that if the Jotun are strong enough to stand against Asgard, and don’t match the Asgardian propaganda description, then Fury will strongly consider siding with them. 

“That said,” Coulson sounds from where he stands, behind Fury’s right shoulder, “until we know more, it would be unwise to let the Asgardians think we are anything other than fully devoted to the task they have given us.” 

“You mean we don’t get to call them on their massive racism? Can I at least insult them in ways they lack the cultural knowledge to understand?” 

The red-haired agent leans forward, completely ignoring Stark. “Why us?” 

Fury, non-surprisingly, chooses to respond to her question. “You’re the best team for the situation. We have two super-humans that will be able to naturally withstand the most extreme temperatures.” He points at Captain America and Bruce, although he’s just talking about the Other Guy. Bruce feels the cold same as anyone. In fact, he’s feeling a bit chilly now, as SHIELD apparently like to overuse the air conditioning systems in their conference rooms. “Also, if these guys live up to being called ‘Frost Giants’, the Hulk might be the only one able to stand toe-to-toe with one, should conflict occur.” 

Bruce holds back a groan. Great. He’s here to supply the muscle, not for his dazzling diplomacy skills (which, to be fair, aren’t all that dazzling). Fury turns to the SHIELD agents. “Barton, Romanoff, you two have been chosen because you’re the best agents SHIELD has got. You both have experience mediating between hostile forces, infiltrating organisations and gathering information. I can trust you to serve as my eyes and ears out there. And Stark? He has a freeze-resistant suit.” 

“I’m also very charming.” Stark supplies, “I can provide references.” 

Bruce can’t help but smile slightly at that, before something occurs to him. “So, we’re going to be going to a different planet, populated by giants, in the company of immortal gods?” 

Fury nods, and Bruce leans back in his chair. 

“Huh. You know, that actually makes me feel a whole lot better.” 

Fury gives him an odd look, obviously not getting why Bruce would be reassured by the knowledge that they were going to somewhere where the majority of individuals would be capable of standing up to the Other Guy. When Bruce makes no move to explain himself further, Fury moves on. “Right. You have two days to prepare, and to acclimatise yourselves to the arctic gear we’ve obtained. I suggest you get to it.” 

Tony leans over to Bruce again. “By the way, I’m stealing you.”

“What?” 

Tony waves an arm in the air. “Fury, where is Bruce meant to be staying for these two days?” 

“We have accommodations. Off base.” Bruce wonders if they include a cage.

“You can cancel them. He’s coming with me. I need him.” 

Fury rubs his brow. “…why, Stark?” 

Bruce is having much the same thought. Does he want to experiment on the Other Guy? 

“…for science? Come on, just think of what me and him could achieve, given two days in my labs.” 

Bruce lets out a sigh of relief, realising that Tony hadn’t been talking about the Other Guy at all. Just Bruce. He has a funny feeling he might be smiling. 

Tony takes in Fury’s less than convinced look, and Bruce sees him quickly calculate how to convince the SHIELD director. “We could improve those snow capsules you’ve got.” Spotting a vague hint of interest in Fury’s expression, Tony presses on. “I had a look at the plans the other day and there are about fifteen different malfunctions that seem likely if Jotunheim is even slightly colder than Antarctica. On my own, it’ll be a stretch to fix even half of them in the time we’ve got…”

Fury signals for Tony to stop. “Fine, fine. If Mr Banner has no objections then you’re welcome to play lab buddies.” 

Tony looks to Bruce, who nods. “Uh, yeah, no objections.” He’s not entirely sure why Tony feels that he needs expertise on biology and radiation, but he’s not arguing if it gets him away from two days full of SHIELD operatives trying to pretend they’re not on constant alert in case the Other Guy makes an appearance. Tony pumps one fist into the air, jubilant. 

“They still have to come to the training sessions though, right?” Barton grumbles. “I’m not going to freeze my balls off in an arctic simulation if I don’t at least get to laugh at other people while I do it.” 

Natasha nods, smiling slightly, and Rogers shivers. “Got to say, I’m not fond of ice. But it does sound necessary, and it will help us bond as a team.” 

“Oh yeah, didn’t you just get thawed out?” asks Tony. “How was it, being a Capsicle?” 

Rogers clenches his jaw in irritation. “Not. Fun.” 

Fury steps in before Tony can open his mouth again and start up a proper confrontation. “You will all,” He looks straight at Tony. “and I mean all, be required to attend headquarters at one pm tomorrow to undergo training. Anyone who doesn’t turn up, I will send Coulson after with a taser and full permission to use it.” 

Coulson nods, confirming Fury’s threat. Bruce isn’t quite sure what to make of the guy yet. One one hand, he seems like a consummate professional, but he _had_ caught him before the meeting, trying to convince a flustered Steve Rogers to sign what looked to be a pack of Captain America trading cards. 

“Relax bossman, we’ll be there.” Tony is standing, impatient to be off. “Come along Brucey, science calls.” 

Bruce shakes his head, more than a little bemused by the whole situation. 

"Er...nice meeting you guys." He gives the others a small wave, before following Tony out of the room. 

This was turning into quite the weird week.


	4. Rule the fourth – Pride comes before a fall (even when your name is Tony Stark)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is time spent in both a really hot place and a really cold place, Jotunheim is made of sparkles and impossible things, and we learn that making naked snow angels is not one of Thor's hobbies (it might be one of Tony's, though).

Tony has to admit, he's enjoying himself so far.

Given that they have no real information on Jotunheim’s climate past ‘It’s a bit like the North Pole’ the decision had been made to send in the more cold-resistant Avengers first so that they could set up the (drastically improved, thanks to Tony and Bruce’s work) living capsules. This would give them a warm refuge, should Jotunheim be colder than expected, and allow Clint and Natasha to not freeze to death on arrival.

The initial plan had been to send Tony, Bruce and Steve, but Bruce had pointed out that the reason he couldn’t freeze to death was that the ‘Other Guy’ would take over before that point, and that the Hulk was far more prone to smashing than building. So, it was just Tony and Steve.

Tony had sulked at first, not looking forward to alone time with America’s favourite superhero (his dads favourite, too). But now, he’s come round to the idea. Mainly because of what an amusing spectacle the usually heroic-looking Captain America made at this moment.

First thing, the usual costume is gone, replaced by puffy, bright orange SHIELD-issue arctic gear. For someone that's pretty much invulnerable, Steve Rogers seems ridiculously concerned at the prospect of snow and ice, and had requested the same gear as Bruce, Natasha and Clint. When questioned, he’d muttered something about how he’d rather not miss the next seventy years.

The second source of amusement for Tony is that, whilst they were heading to a frozen planet, they have to wait for their interplanetary taxi service under the hot, burning New Mexico sun. And whilst Tony is _wonderfully_ comfortable inside his heat regulated suit and Thor (the Asgardians had arrived this morning, the other four having agreed to accompany Clint, Bruce and Natasha later in the day) seems to not register the heat at all, Steve is not looking happy.

“Friend Steve, are you well?” Thor booms, frowning at the sweating bundle of clothing that was one Steve Rogers.

Steve nods, not one to complain. “Yeah, thanks. Wouldn’t mind if we were to leave soon, though.”

“It will be so. Heimdall will not keep us wait-”

*****

“Ugh” Tony is glad for the suit, as he doesn’t think his legs would hold him up otherwise. As it is, he's pretty sure he left his stomach back in New Mexico. “Can I walk home?”

Steve, leaning heavily against the crate that contains the SHIELD gear, nods. “Can I join you?”

“The Bifrost is by far the most comfortable means to cross realms.” Thor looks bemused by their discomfort. He looks altogether comfortable, not even shivering in the whirling, icy winds despite only being clad in a strange leather and armour get-up.

“In Asgard, does ‘comfortable’ mean ‘nauseating’?”

“No. The Allspeak does not allow for such confusion.”

Tony fully intends to continue confusing the Asgardian (because, come on, it’s fun), but at that moment he properly registers his location and the sight before him and his brain promptly loses the ability to do anything other than marvel at it. Ice and snow cover everything, and it’s not the dirty greyish stuff you get in New York, no, this snow is a blank white canvas, sweeping all the way up to the top of the jagged mountains in the distance. And the ice, it’s something else, Tony can see elegantly crafted spires that glint in the pale red light of two, no, three suns. Readings flash up in his visor, confirming Tony’s assumption that they’re red dwarf stars, small and old and cool, only visible because of their proximity to the planet.

Tony’s mind starts running on overdrive, because he’s pretty sure from his knowledge of astronomy (which, admittedly, has never been a subject he’d had all that much interest in) that it should be impossible for all three stars to be as close to the planet as his readings indicate. The planet cant be orbiting them all, not without breaking pretty much every rule in the book, and if they're orbiting each other, then two of them should surely be further away, not all clustered together on the horizon. It doesn't make any sense, none at all. If Tony wasn't an atheist, then his best guess would be that this planet had been created by some bored god just to fuck with people. 

He grins. For his first off-world experience, Jotunheim is ticking all the boxes. Breathtakingly beautiful _and_ a ridiculously impossible puzzle to solve. He can’t wait till Bruce gets here, he seems like the kind of guy to know about astronomy and all that jazz. He’s disturbed from considering all the possibilities (and all the science!) by Thor’s low tones.

“Jotunheim has changed since I was here last.”

“What, did it used to have a beach resort?”

Tony looks over to Steve when his joke gets no reaction. Huh. Apparently Captain America is currently stuck in the ‘oh my god I’m on another planet and it’s all shiny and cool’ gobsmacked phase Tony himself had experienced earlier. His mouth is actually hanging open. Tony idly wonders whether his drool might freeze if he keeps it up much longer, and murmurs a command to Jarvis to take a picture should this happen.

“These towers, they were not present before.” Tony turns back to Thor to see the god of frat boys point out the glittering spires of ice Tony had noticed earlier, before getting distracted by the sheer impossibility that is this planet's existence. Now he looks closer, the spires look pretty damn impossible themselves. Ice wouldn’t shape like that naturally, but the angles and structures also defy all known laws of architecture. Tony can’t see how they could possibly have been _built_. He can’t see how they stay up at all.

“When I last visited Jotunheim, the city lay in ruins, as it has for the past millennia. This should not be possible.”

For once, Tony is in agreement with Thor though, he suspects, for quite different reasons. Not that he has any intention of letting his confusion show.

Instead, he shrugs, seemingly nonchalant about the whole thing. “Maybe they hired a decorator?”

Funnily enough, Thor decides not to bother responding to that one, instead he just stands there, frowning at the towers in the distance as though hoping they might melt under his gaze.

Steve still looks as though he might get out an easel and start painting landscapes any moment. Also, no icicles are forming as of yet, unfortunately.

“Jarvis, do we have temperature readings?”

_“Of course sir. Systems detect an external temperature of minus eighty farenheit. Wind chill factor is currently negligible, but a storm front can be detected, likely to hit during the night.”_

“Right, so, no naked snow angels then?”

”That would be unwise, yes.”

Tony switches to external comms. “Hey guys, no naked snow angels.”

This appears to be enough to rouse Thor from his one sided staring contest with the big ice towers. He wheels around to face Tony, tone urgent.

“Who do you speak of? Allies of the frost giants? Do they plan an attack?”

Thor grips the handle of his hammer, looking around for something to hit with it.

“Hold it, Point Break, no one’s attacking. I was just warning against getting naked and playing in the snow. Steve’ll back me up, they had snow angels in the middle ages, right?”

Instead of any response, there’s a loud creak. Tony and Thor turn to see that Steve has awaken from his scenery coma, and has just pried the top off the crate containing the capsules. At their stares, he shrugs.

“Tents won’t build themselves.”

Oh, Tony really wishes he had a picture of him with drool icicles. Ah well. His fun may not be entirely ruined yet. Inside the suit, he grins.

“Jarvis? Care to prove Captain America wrong?”

_“Of course, sir. I would hate to rob you of a chance to show off, after all.”_

Moments after Jarvis’ words, the remaining sides of the crate burst open, four metallic looking cubes hovering out. Steve and Thor watch with matching awed expressions as each cube folds itself out, thin, hyper-strong layers of metal locking together to forming sturdy igloo shaped shelters in the snow.

Tony spreads his arms out, ever the showman.

“Captain Spangles, Hanson, welcome to the 21st century.”

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! My initial plan was for this chapter to take us all the way up to the events of part 1/the prologue, but as I'm horrendously swamped with work right now I decided to split it up a bit. This way, hopefully, I can keep updating semi regularly. Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! As ever, comments make me a very happy biscuit indeed :)


	5. Rule the fifth – Watch out for the side-effects of magical fires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there are fire-side chats, lots of emotions, and Thor and Steve become BFFs. (Apologies for the lack of Tony in this one, but there are hopefully some other things that shall make up for it!)

It is warm inside the living capsules, cosy despite the fierce snow storm that had set in mere hours after Clint, Natasha, Bruce and the other Asgardians had arrived. Steve has to marvel at the workmanship. Tony certainly had inherited his father’s skill, even if in all other regards he seems quite alien to the man Steve had once known. He tries not to let it get to him too much. Okay, so he had initially harboured some naïve hope that he might be able to connect with Tony, to temper his feelings of alienation and disorientation by reminiscing about someone from _his_ world, _his_ time. But it seems that that’s not going to be an option, so he’s just going to have to cope on his own.

He sighs, pacing up and down the small crampt space between the bunks. Tony shoots him a slightly irritated look from the corner, where he’s poring over something sciencey and unintelligible with Bruce. Natasha, on the other hand gives him an understanding nod as she waits for Clint to make the next move in the latest of many fiercely waged chess battles.

Steve gets the feeling that the two SHIELD agents enjoy being cooped up like this about as much as he does. The storm hasn’t let up for three long days now, obscuring visibility to such an extent that attempting to reach Jotunheim’s main city would only serve as an exercise in getting lost. Despite this, Clint had ventured out for all of fifteen minutes yesterday (with the added temperature drop brought by the storm, he couldn’t risk much longer even with his SHEILD arctic gear) and returned with a brace of rabbit sized but utterly alien looking critters. After being given the all clear by Bruce, they had actually proved to be surprisingly tasty, a marked improvement from the packaged fare they’d been subsisting on.

Steve hears a thumping, dragging noise from outside, and he peers out the window to see Thor emerge out of the whirling snow, dragging a half a tree behind him. Steve hadn’t seen any foliage when they’d first arrived. Maybe Thor took a trip back to Asgard? The other four Asgardians hadn’t remained in Jotunheim for long, but Thor seemed to have been entrusted with overseeing this mission for Asgard. Steve gets the impression that it may well be punishment for some slip up on Thor’s part.

He watches as Thor starts breaking up the wood, quickly realising that the Asgardian is building a large camp fire. It’s somewhat sheltered from the storm, as a canopy stretches out between the sleeping/living capsule and the one containing toilet and shower facilities, but Steve still doesn’t know how on earth Thor expects to get a fire lit in these conditions. Curiosity piqued, he takes the chance to escape the confines of the capsule, tugging on his arctic gear and heading outside.      

When Thor spots him approaching, he smiles widely, thunking a huge branch down into the snow to serve as a bench of sorts. Steve joins him in throwing the last few branches on the pile, before taking a seat. Thor plonks down beside him, still holding a thick branch in one hand. For a moment, he just stares at it, then a small, blue flame flutters into life from nowhere, turning the branch into a flaming torch.

“Wow. Quite the party trick you’ve got there.”

Thor laughs, leaning forward to light the main fire. It ignites, burning with the same strange blue fire.

“You will have to promise not to tell the Warriors Three, or Sif, should you see them again. You are correct, it is a trick, not much valued amongst honest warriors.”

Steve holds his gloved hands up, letting them feel the warmth of the fire.

“So, uh, you can do magic?”

Thor shakes his head, smiling. “Oh, no, I have no skill in it. I know only this one spell. It is simple, but of most use in places such as this.”

“Where did you learn it?”

Thor’s ever-present smile falters slightly. “An old friend. My best, growing up. A brother to me.”

“Oh.” Steve doesn’t quite know what to say. It sounds like there’s more to tell, but Steve isn’t like Tony, butting into everyone else’s business with brash questions. So instead, he gives Thor an out. “Well, he did you a favour.”

“Aye” Thor pokes at the fire with a long branch, sending embers flickering into the air. Steve can’t quite get used to the blue, unnatural flames. They look like they should give off waves of cold, not the dull, thick heat that acts as a balm against the icy wind. He turns his head to see Thor considering him silently. The Asgardian seems to come to a decision, turning back to the flames and starting to speak, as though spinning a fireside tale.

“In Asgard, boys are not allowed to join hunting trips until they have proved themselves capable, both in body and in mind. I excelled on the practice grounds, but my studies…” Thor trails off, looking somewhat embarrassed. “As prince, I was charged with learning different matters than others my age. Sitting for hours inside, listening to an old scholar lecture about the old wars and trading agreements and long dead kings…it did not suit me.”

Steve can’t help but smile slightly at that, as he can imagine it well. He himself hates being cooped up indoors for any length of time, perhaps because so much of his childhood had been spent like that, recovering from various illnesses and weaknesses, watching through a window as other children played outside.

“Anyway, I was frustrated because Father would not let me join the hunt, and Father was frustrated because I would not learn. But mother, she found a solution, as she always does. Walking through the market one morning, she came across a boy stealing fruit from a stall. When she caught him, he spun a great tale, claiming that societies in which the lower classes could not rise were destined to become stagnant, and that he did not want this fate to befall Asgard. Therefore it was his _duty_ to steal the fruit, as he could not hold Asgard back by remaining with nothing.” Thor shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. “Or something like that. Mother tells the tale better.”

Steve laughs, feeling himself relaxing in the company of Thor in a way he hadn’t expected, given the initial impression he had made. “So, what did she do?”

“Told him to stop being ridiculous and returned the fruit to the vendor.” Thor’s grin is wider now, eyes light with mirth. “Then she brought the boy back to the castle and told old Afi, the librarian, that he had a new apprentice. Ikol was given a room in the servants quarters, but mother would invite him to eat with us most evenings, and he was given time off his duties so that he could join my lessons.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Wow. Your mother sounds like quite the woman.”

Thor laughs. “That she is. Although Ikol was an exception. She was always kind, always giving aid to those in need, but not to that extent. Father was not happy. I too was somewhat jealous in the beginning, not understanding why she would care so for Ikol when she already had a son in me.”

“But then?”

“But then Ikol proved himself to be bright and funny and capable of the best kinds of mischief. Truly, I came to see him as my brother, just as mother saw him as a son. Even my lessons became bearable, with Ikol there talking rings around our tutors.”

Steve finds himself smiling, caught up in the warmth and joy that come through in Thor’s tone. “No offence, but he sounds like a bit of a smart alec.”

He’s about to clarify, belatedly realising that Thor probably doesn’t know Earth colloquialisms, but to his surprise Thor laughs. “Aye. He was. But charming enough that it didn’t matter. Also, I think he mostly did it for my benefit. He seemed to know that I found the learnings in our books tedious, but he argued about them to our tutors in a way that made it seem as though they actually mattered.”

Thor pauses, frowning slightly. “I did feel that he went too far with our history tutor though. With the others, he would debate points and correct them, but he showed respect to the knowledge. Our first history class, he threw the text we were to study out of the window. At times, I worried that our tutor would follow.”

Steve frowns. “Was the tutor that terrible?”

Thor shakes his head. “Of course not, he was one of the finest scholars in all of Asgard. He knew all there was to know of the realms histories. But Ikol would not accept a word he said, claiming that they were all lies, that as Asgard had been victorious in her wars, those that had dared challenge her in the past were demonised in the histories as vicious monsters.”

Steve spots an opportunity and takes it, treading carefully. “Do you mean the Jotun?”

“Fire demons and Dark Elves too, but aye, Ikol took particular issue with our lessons on the Great War with Jotunheim. He refused to accept that Laufey’s greed had threatened all the nine realms, and that the Jotun had proved themselves again and again to be a race of savages that could only be stopped through violence. Whenever great victories were recounted, like the sacking of Issborg, Ikol would ask whether the great warriors had found honour in the slaughtering of the wounded and children.”

Steve sits back heavily. “You know…you know I was in a war, right?”

Thor nods. “You have the way of a warrior.”

“Right. Well, the war I fought in, I’m sure it would be small in Asgardian standards, but it was pretty major for us. Our entire way of life was threatened, and the ones doing the threatening, the leaders, they must have been as close to evil as you can get. But we weren’t just fighting the leaders, we were fighting an entire nation. A nation of ordinary people who just happened to have been born in that place.”

Thor is frowning slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt, so Steve continues, speaking slowly and clearly. “Of course, some of them must have wanted to invade and subject, just like their leaders. But not all of them. Some were forced to fight, some followed because they didn’t know better, some protested in any small way they could.”

He leans back towards the fire, finding himself shivering, either from the cold or from the memories, he’s not quite sure which. “But we had to fight against them. _I_ had to fight against them…and if I’d been thinking that all the time, that the person firing at me was probably a regular guy, no more ‘evil’ than me, with a girlfriend and parents and siblings…I’d have gone insane.”

“But the Jotun _are_ evil.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. What I do know, is that soldiers in my squad laughed at cartoons in the paper that showed the enemy as animals, as bugs to be squashed. I remember celebrating when the word got in that German cities had been bombed to rubble, I remember being _happy,_ that we were one step closer to victory.”

He sighs, rubbing at his temple with one hand. “And then I woke up in the future, and read about all the innocent people that died in those bombings and the ones in Japan, after I was frozen. And the war ended, whilst I was gone, and…” He sets his jaw. “I’m still proud that I fought for my country. I still think it was necessary. But I’m not proud of everything that we did to win that war, and I don’t think I am, or ever was, better than most of the people that were fighting on the other side.”    

There’s a long moment of silence after Steve’s words, the only sounds being the constant whoosh of the icy wind and the low crackling of the fire. Thor is sitting, apparently lost in thought, and Steve needs a moment to recover from having shared thoughts he’d never thought he would.

Eventually, Thor speaks. “It is different. You fought against your fellow Midgardians. The Jotun are alien.” His brow furrows. “But…I will think on your words, friend Steve.”

Steve nods. “That’s all I ask.”

The slightest hint of a smile returns to Thor’s face. “I am beginning to think that my old history tutor was lucky, to have had only me and Ikol in his class. If you had also been there, he may have had to accept defeat.” He picks the long stick back up, prodding at the flames once more. “I think that you and Ikol would have liked each other greatly, had you met.”

Given the warmth with which Thor has spoken of this ‘Ikol’, Steve knows that he has just been paid a great compliment. He smiles at the Asgardian. “Thanks.”

There is a lull in conversation once more, but this time it is far more comfortable. The fire is giving off a surprising amount of heat, perhaps due to its magical nature, and Steve is enjoying being outside without feeling as though he’s going to freeze any moment (okay, so he knows that he’s got less to fear than Clint or Natasha or even Tony without his suit, but he figures that, given he’s only recently been unthawed from a hunk of ice, he has the right to be a bit paranoid about these things.)

One of the small, rabbit sized beings scampers through a patch of fire-light, quickly gone, and Steve marvels once more at Clint’s aptitude with a bow and arrow. The fire hasn’t dimmed at all, and he wonders if it will, or if it must be dismissed as it was summoned. He is about to ask, but instead decides to go for the other question that has been bothering him since Thor started his talk of Ikol, hoping that the comfortable atmosphere will allow the Asgardian to speak of what Steve fears are more unpleasant memories.

“What happened to him? Ikol, I mean.”

Thor looks over at him, then inclines his head towards the fire. Steve startles, shocked.

“You set him on fire?”

Thor laughs briefly. “Of course not. Ikol taught me how to cast the fire.”

“Oh.” Steve settles back down, curious as to how this relates to the question he’d asked, but trusting that it would become clear in the end.

“With Ikol in my classes, I started learning, and eventually my tutors agreed that I was ready to join the next hunt.”

“And Ikol?” Unbidden, Steve’s imagination throws up images of a young, bright eyed boy being flung from the back of a horse, or mauled by some savage beast. His mind’s version of Ikol looks like a smaller, leaner version of Thor, even though Steve knows that the two were not actually related.

“No.” Thor shakes his head, and the images disperse. “Though I saw him as a brother, and my mother loved him like he were her own son, he was still merely a servant boy. Librarian’s apprentices do not join the hunt. Not that he wanted to, anyway. He used to joke that no animal carcass was worth the possibility of having to sleep the night in a tent with Volstagg and his flatulence.”

Steve gives a small chuckle at that, making a mental note to ensure that, if the other four Asgardians return, he has the berth farthest away from Volstagg. Thor continues with his tale, his voice taking on a deep, story-telling tone once more.  

“Shortly after my tutors deemed me worthy, the team from the previous hunt returned to the city. There was much celebration for their return, but also much sadness, as the hunting party had been caught in a great storm on the way back from the mountains. It had rained and hailed for many days, and two of the younger boys in the group got separated from the rest. When the storm let up enough for them to be found, one of them had perished and the other was gravely ill.”

“Christ…was it the cold, or…”

Thor huddles in to the fire, all trace of laughter gone from his face. “Aye. The second boy told the tale to my father. They were unable to find shelter, and the rain and hail had made it so all of the wood was too wet to build a fire for heat. The storm just went on too long.”

“The second boy, did he recover?”

“In time, although he was never quite the same. You have met him. Hogun of the Warriors Three. He is steadfast and true, even if mirth does not come to him easily.”

Steve nods, knowing well what it felt like to be the one left behind. His thoughts turn to Bucky briefly, and then shy away. It’s still too close, even if it was, in reality, decades ago.

“When Ikol heard the tale, he was furious. He asked me why they had not cast a fire from magic, and when I said that they would not have known how to, he seemed truly shocked. I know not why. Every Asgardian knows that only women practice magic, it is not a skill fit for a warrior.”

Steve leans in. “ ‘Every Asgardian’….but not Ikol?”

A small grin returns to Thor’s face. “No. He was always one to do whatever he saw fit, regardless of what others might say. Which was fine for him, no one cared if a lowly servant boy cast a few spells, so long as he was not too open about it. But I am the crown prince of Asgard, I have honour to uphold.”

Steve holds his hands up in a placating gesture at the slightly warning look Thor sends his way.

“I did promise I wouldn’t tell. I keep my word.”

Thor’s expression morphs back to one of openness. “Sorry, friend Steve. I am grateful.”

“That’s okay, I get it. But anyway, given that you do know how to cast fire, I’m guessing that Ikol won that argument?”

“He said that if I didn’t agree to let me teach him, he would simply enchant my footsteps to make a thunderous noise with every step, so that I would scare off all game from miles off and never be invited on any hunt again.” Even though this must have been a long time ago now, Thor still looks decidedly exasperated.

Steve grins. “I’m guessing that he thought your safety was more important than your honour.”

Thor gives a fond smile. “Yes, he did. Although he much less polite about it. Something about me being an ignorant fool, and how until my honour could halt storms it was no use to anyone.” Thor warms his hands against the flickering blue flames. “I gave in, in the end, and let him teach me. It took weeks, although Ikol had said that it was a simple enough spell that even an infant could cast it. I do not doubt that he could at that age, but I have little aptitude for magic.”       

Steve follows Thor’s example, gazing into the blue fire. If anything, it seems as though it is giving off more heat now, but that’s probably just Steve being terribly sentimental. Still, it seems as though the tale is at an end, and Steve is still no wiser as to what happened to Ikol. So he asks, and Thor’s face falls.

“I do not know.” he confesses. “Everything was fine. I learned the spell in time for the hunt, and left the city with my fellow warriors. When I returned, I was eager to share my tales of all I had seen and done, but Ikol was gone. No one would tell me where he had gone, or answer any questions about him. My mother, she stayed in her chamber for months. Her sorrow was the only sign, other than my memories, that Ikol had ever existed. But she would not speak of what had become of him either, and asking caused her such grief that I could only bring myself to do so once.”

Thor sighs, and all of a sudden he looks like the he must have back then, a boy, upset and confused. “For a while, I thought…” He looks somewhat shifty, as though on the brink of saying something he knows that he shouldn’t. Steve places a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to tell me. But know that if you do, it will go no further.”

Thor nods, looking somewhat relieved. Steve assumes that this means he’s decided to keep his suspicions to himself, but instead Thor continues, talking in a slightly hushed voice. “Before I left for the hunting party, I went to Ikol’s living quarters, to wish him farewell. He was in the servant’s quarters, high up in the north tower. He made me practice the spell, to make sure that I still could and that he wouldn’t have to cast his thunderous feet charm on me. I…I remember, as I cast the spell for Ikol, looking up and spotting a raven perched on the windowsill. It looked straight at me.”

Steve doesn’t quite understand. Thor thinks that a raven had something to do with the disappearance of his childhood friend? And why does he look so guilty, like his words are somehow treason? His confusion must show on his face, as Thor shakes himself, as if out of a daze, returning to the cheery, brash persona Steve is most familiar with.

“No matter. Just the silly imaginings of a child. I hope that Ikol is safe, wherever he is.” Thor looks out into the darkness, and for a moment Steve half thinks that Ikol might appear, the vaguely Thor-ish boy that Steve imagines him as. Then he shakes himself too. He’s beginning to think that heat might not be the only power of this fire, what with all the spilling of secrets and the dream-like way he’s feeling. He blinks to clear his eyes, then looks over at Thor.

“You know, we could really do with some marshmallows to roast.”

Thor frowns at him. “Marshmallows? What are they, and why should they be roasted?”

So, for the next ten minutes, Steve tells Thor everything there is to know about marshmallows.  

    

      

  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS - For anyone who's wondering. Yes, Ikol is called Ikol because of Journey into Mystery. Anyone who hasn't read Journey Into Mystery should either run straight for your nearest comic book store or hide in fear, depending on how ready your heart is to deal with ALL THE FEELS. 
> 
> Ahem. Thanks for reading. Comments, as ever, make me the happiest little cookie that ever lived.


	6. Rule the sixth - be prepared for things to go to hell at any moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have an action packed chapter! I am starting to develop a vendetta against a) action scenes, and b) writing in the past tense....so given that this update involves both of these, I hope it's still okay!

When it all goes to hell, it happens almost too quickly to do anything else but panic. In this case, Tony’s panicking involves flying off into the uncharted wilderness, chasing a very angry Hulk before he smashes any of the very pretty and delicate looking hewn-ice towers that glitter on the horizon. Really, they’ve got to be like catnip to big, green and angry.

Hell, even Tony has to admit that smashing up towers and palaces made of ice seems like it would be a pretty fun idea. He just doesn’t think that it would do much good for their diplomatic mission, that’s all. And seeing as that diplomatic mission is on a planet populated entirely by beings that have somehow gained the nickname ‘Frost Giants’, well, Tony would rather not give them a reason to kick him and the rest of the team all the way back to Earth.

He sighs, altering his flight path slightly to attempt to gain speed. Not half an hour ago, they’d all been merrily piling out of the capsules, celebrating the long overdue end of the mammoth storm that had raged since they’d arrived in Jotunheim. Tony had been excited to finally head for the glittering city he’d gained a brief sight of when they’d first arrived, eager to get a closer look at the strange, illogical ice structures it was made up of.   

They had been packing up, enjoying the brightness, if not warmth, of the suns shining overhead. Bruce had been particularly intrigued to discover that there was actually a significant amount of plant growth underfoot, in the form of delicate, bouncy moss that was silvery-white in tone, blending in almost completely with the snow and ice. However, what had also blended in perfectly was a small and vicious snake that had launched itself at Bruce’s outreached hand.

Bruce, the together fellow that he was, had simply gripped the snake’s head with his free hand, managing to pry its jaws from him before relinquishing it back into the undergrowth. “Places I stayed in India, got used to all sorts.” He’d shrugged, before turning to Steve, who was packing spare clothing. “Could do with a fresh pair of gloves though.” He’d held up one hand, showing the rip in the fabric….before promptly fainting into a heap on the snow.

Tony had started to run towards Bruce, worried for his new, awesome science buddy, but Steve had tackled him, suit and all.

“What are you doing? The snake bite must have been poisonous, we need to help him!” Tony had protested.

He’d heard a commotion from behind him, and Jarvis had switched to the suit’s rear visuals for a moment to allow Tony to view both Clint and Natasha, trying their best to hold back Thor. Tony guessed that the only reason they had been able to do so was that Thor had been too concerned about hurting them to use his full strength, and the two SHIELD operative had been well aware of this, and willing to use it to their advantage. 

“The Man of Iron is correct,” Thor had bellowed, “the white viper may appear small, but its poison is deadly if not quickly treated.”  

He’d lurched forward a step, but Natasha had ducked in, a low spinning kick throwing Thor off balance, allowing his own body weight to topple him. Clint had grabbed one of Thor’s arms, Natasha the other, buying them a few moments.

“Bruce Banner can’t die,” Natasha had stated, in that calm, collected tone she tended to favour when the shit was really about to hit the pan “the Hulk won’t let him.”

“Yeah.” Clint had agreed, “And we might want to get out of the smash zone.”

Tony’s first thought had been _“The smash zone? Really?”_ because whilst he’s getting used to Hawkeye’s rather individual sense of humour, that one’s just _bad._ Then, the actual information contained in Natasha and Clint’s words had dawned on him, reminding him that, oh yeah, there’s that thing that Bruce does where he transforms into a massive green monster. It’s not that he’d forgotten exactly, but Bruce Banner, scientist and Hulk, was now just Bruce, awesome friend and genius partner in science, and he’d stopped dwelling too much on the Hulk once the novelty value of prodding Bruce with sharp things had worn off after the first few days.

He hadn’t had much time to ponder this however, as one second he’d been realizing that Steve had released him, the next he’d been in the air, swung around in one massive, green fist. The Hulk/Bruce (Tony had never thought to ask Bruce what he’d prefer to be addressed as in his, er, larger form, he really should have) had eyeballed Tony, looking a bit like Steve had that one time he'd attempted Sudoku.

“Yo Rocky.” Tony had attempted a wave with the one arm he’d had free from the Hulk’s tight grip. “You been working out?”

He’d heard a disapproving sound from behind him, and Jarvis had allowed him to see the others, backed off to a safe distance. Both Clint and Natasha had been poised and ready to attack, and Tony had had a moment of irrational fear, because it was _Bruce,_ they can’t hurt _Bruce._ Even if he was massive and green and slowly but surely tightening his grip on the captive Iron Man in his grasp. 

“Tony, could you try to _not_ antagonise him, maybe?” had come the oh-so-helpful suggestion from Steve.

“Hey, I’m not antagonising. We’re best buds, me and-”

-THUNK!

Tony had come to in the snow, splayed out beneath one of the capsule walls. It hadn’t exactly been one of his finest moments, he’d admit that. Thor had tugged him to his feet, looking concerned.

“Are you well, Man of Iron?”

“Uh, yeah.” Luckily, he had been. No major damage to the suit, just a minor dent to the helmet (fuck, the Hulk was _strong_ ) and a large knock to his pride.

Natasha had filled him in. “The Hulk threw you against the wall of the capsule, then took off.”

“Yeah, think he saw something shiny.” With these words, Clint had pointed towards the glittering city on the horizon. After a moment of being distracted by the near immaculate condition of the capsule (damn right he’s good), Tony had quickly put two and two together and grasped that no, an angry Hulk heading for civilisation was not a good idea. As Natasha had bluntly put it, going into someone’s city and smashing all their houses was the wrong first impression to make. Even Thor the diplomatically challenged agreed with that assumption, which was somewhat surprising given that the Asgardian seemed to think that the appropriate method of greeting a Jotun was to whack them with a massive hammer.

So, naturally, Tony had set off in chase of the Hulk, leaving the rest of the team to lag behind on their SHIELD snowmobiles. Steve hadn’t been too happy about Tony heading off on his own, but luckily part of the joy of speeding away at great speeds was that he quickly exceeded lecturing distance, so he hadn’t heard too much of it. Something about teamwork, and the Hulk being a badass motherfucker (he might not have phrased it quite like that).  

Anyway, after a ridiculously long pursuit across icy, sweeping plains that would have taken Tony’s breath away with their beauty if he’d had the time to appreciate them, he’s finally catching up with the Hulk. The green, mean smashing machine is evidently capable of moving a great deal faster than his bulk would indicate, and has reached the outer limits of the shining Jotun city. Here there are what look like simple dwellings, crafted out of the same ice-like material as the grand towers that rise up from the city centre, but significantly less ornate. They’re not quite as insane (architecturally speaking) as the towers either, looking a bit like pictures Tony has seen of old Viking longhouses. Except from the fact that they’re quite clearly made for giants. Tony imagines that the Hulk could comfortably live in one of the dwellings, if he wasn’t dead set on smashing them to little icy shards, that is.

Tony powers the suit into a fluid dive through the fragile, crystalline snow that drifts through the air, before killing off the repulsors and dropping to the ground just out of Hulk-reach. He has a plan for how to distract the Hulk from his intended smashing. As plans go, it’s a really, really stupid one.

“Hey, Green and Ugly!”

It doesn’t work. Hulk keeps on heading towards a nearby dwelling, undeterred. Fair enough. If Tony was a huge rage monster that listed smashing things as their favourite pastime (yes, the Hulk had a facebook profile that said just that, and yes, Tony might just have been responsible for it) he imagines that he too would find glittery, fragile looking ice buildings damn near irresistible. It’s just a shame that instead of being a huge green rage monster, he’s the idiot that has to _stop_ the huge green rage monster from smashing all of the pretty buildings.

Tony sighs, and reminds himself just how gutted Bruce will be if the Hulk was to do anything terrible. That in mind, he positions himself slap bang between the Hulk and his smashing target. Hulk blinks for a moment in confusion at Tony’s sudden appearance, then one massive hand swings out to swat the unwanted obstacle from his path.

Tony had been expecting that though, and manoeuvres cleanly away, flying up and just out of reach. Then he dives right back in, trying to catch the Hulk off balance but failing, narrowly avoiding another wild swing before retreating again.

“Jarvis, what are the odds I can bring the big fella down?”

_“That would depend on whether you are willing to utilise the suit’s offensive capabilities, sir.”_

Tony takes a look at the Hulk. Probably the most scary thing is that he can see quite a lot of Bruce there, too much to believe whatever others had said about the Hulk being out-and-out evil.

“No, no blasters. I want him out for the count, but not seriously harmed.”

_“Of course sir, I apologise for even suggesting it. In that case, chances are minimal, I’m afraid. I do hope you have a plan B prepared.”_

Tony grins, even as he once more flies down into harm’s way, prompting the Hulk’s fury once more.  

“Yeah. Keep Godzilla from smashing Tokyo until the cavalry arrive.” He narrowly avoids another hit, flinging himself backwards instead of upwards this time, in an attempt to draw the Hulk away from the city. The Hulk takes the bait, and lurches towards Tony with one thudding step, his foot leaving a sizeable crater in the snow. If Bruce wasn’t otherwise occupied, Tony would be going for a high-five right about now.

“How far off are they? Can we get a reading?”

Hulk lets out a great bellow of annoyance, spittle flying. His swings and punches are getting quicker, more aggressive. Evidently, Tony has received an upgrade from obstacle to target. He’s not entirely sure that he’s thankful.

_“Snowmobiles are approaching from the south. At their current speed, they should reach here in approximately ten minutes.”_

Tony dives and tumbles and dodges through the air. The Hulk may not look like the brightest tool in the box, but he seems to be wising up to Tony’s dive and run tactics, his fists getting harder and harder to avoid.  

“Okay. Ten minutes, easy.” Tony grits out, as a fist sails past him once more. “I can do ten minutes.”  

Tony really should have learned by now not to say things like that a long time ago. If there’s a sure fire way to ensure that something will go wrong, it’s to announce cheerfully that it won’t. But a Tony Stark that wasn’t a cocky shit wouldn’t be Tony Stark at all, so he just has to deal with the inevitable fallout.

This time, the drapes hanging across the entrance to the nearest dwelling part, and a large blue alien almost matching the Hulk in size emerges, looking decidedly unhappy about the ruckus that’s going on in his/her/their backyard.

If Tony had been disappointed about the relatively non-alien appearance of the Asgardians (and he had been, they could at least have had some discreet horns, or an extra arm or something) then his first sighting of a Jotun more than made up for it. Now _here_ was an alien. Although its basic shape was bipedal and vaguely humanoid, there were some pretty notable differences. First off was the size. The Jotun that had emerged must be nearing eight foot, not much smaller than the Hulk, but where Bruce’s alter-ego was huge and lumbering, the Jotun was more compact, looking both powerful and graceful somehow. Like how humanity might look had they evolved from sharks instead of apes.  

And then there was that blue skin, laced with spirals and intricate patterns, thin tattoo-like lines mixing with deeper gouges. It’s incredible, and Tony craves a closer look, even if he’s pretty sure that would be rude. Still, it’s not like the Jotun seems shy, as it is wearing only a kind of loin cloth type thing, crafted from what looks like reptile hide. Although its expression isn’t the most welcoming, it has to be said, sharp teeth bared and red eyes glaring.

“Er, hi!” Tony calls out. “Sorry about this, he got off his leash. By the way, have you seen Avatar? I think James Cameron owes you royalties.”

The Jotun frowns at him for a moment, and Tony kicks himself for assuming that someone from an alien planet would speak English. Why hadn’t they asked Thor what the Jotun language was? However, to his surprise, the Jotun speaks, calling out with some urgency, “Watch out, stranger!”

Oh, yeah, the Hulk.  

It’s too late for Tony to escape, he's caught, his suit crushed in a vice-like grip before he's flung to the ground. Red alerts flicker across Tony’s visor, and he can feel metal digging in whenever he takes a breath, the suit’s torso warped and misshapen. He rolls over quickly, avoiding a stamping foot, and activates the repulsors to take to the air, only to smacked back down to earth by one flat green fist.

_“Sir, the outer layer of armour has been breached. Diverting extra power to maintain internal temperature.”_

That is not what Tony wanted to hear. He dives forward, through the gap between the Hulk’s legs, rolling away across the snow. As the Hulk looks around, confused, Tony pulls himself up to a standing position. He tests the repulsors, and they lift him a small distance off the ground, but the limited power means that his movements are sluggish, and he drops down to the ground once more. Right, here goes nothing.

“Hey!” he calls out to the Jotun that is lurking a small distance away. “Fancy lending a hand?”

Red eyes consider him, but the Jotun doesn’t move. Unfortunately, the Hulk does, alerted to Tony’s position by his words.

“HULK SMASH TIN MAN!” he bellows, and if Tony had time he would protest that the suit is actually a highly complex gold-titanium alloy, but he doesn’t, and he doubts that the Hulk cares anyway, so he goes for another tactic.

“Hey, Bruce, you in there? Care to tell the big guy how awesome your friend Tony is, and how you’d really like for him to remain in one piece?”

The Hulk pauses, tilting his head to one side. And then a blue hand grabs out, catching one of the Hulk’s thick arms and prompting a great bellow of pain and surprise. The Hulk reacts by pulling back his other fist, smacking the Jotun down into the snow, but Tony can see an imprint of darkened skin marring green flesh where the Jotun had gripped. The patch looks black and deadened, and Tony worries what would happen if the Jotun was to reach for somewhere more essential, like the Hulk’s neck, or over his heart. He wants the Hulk contained, sure, but most of all he wants Bruce back. The commonly held 'the Hulk is invincible' theory hasn't been tested against frost giants, and based on evidence so far, the Jotun could definitely harm the big green guy. 

So when the Jotun rights itself, dodging and diving and preparing to strike another blow, Tony does something very, very stupid. He gets in the way.  

 


	7. Rule the seventh - Don't believe your (Hawk)eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a massive fight, but Clint is too busy spying to watch most of it.

In the time Clint has known Tony Stark, he’s decided two things. First, the man is an egotistical, obnoxious asshole. Second, Clint kind of likes him anyway. So it’s disappointing that it currently looks as though the arrogant billionaire is about to get pummelled into the ground by an angry Jotun. And unless he wants to start an interplanetary war, there’s nothing Clint can do to help. He hates being powerless, fucking hates it.

Clint, Natasha and Steve have been given prize seats at the Iron Man vs Angry Blue Dude knockdown. Clint has been in enough sticky situations to know that this is purely so that the Jotun can keep a careful eye on what to them must be a strange bunch of aliens. There are two Jotun in particular, a big eight footer and a smaller, leaner and meaner looking fellow (though still massive in comparison to the Earth Brigade), that are definitely tracking their slightest movement. They’re trying to be subtle about it, but Clint’s a pro, even if he does say so himself.

Luckily, Thor had been clever enough to stay at base camp, so the destruction had been minimal, once they’d managed to subdue the Hulk (which Clint is taking 99% of the credit for, thank you very much tranquilizer darts, even if it had taken his entire damn supply to down the big guy). Then, of course, they’d had to deal with the fact that Tony had apparently decided that the best way to win over the locals was to ask for their help in a fight and then turn on them. Clint doesn’t blame the guy for being pissed at Tony for that stunt. Hell, he would be too.  Still, there were better ways to sort out grievances than via Gladiator match. He’d have got Tony to pay him a shit load of money, personally, although he can see why that might not hold quite the same appeal on Jotunheim. Did these guys even _have_ money?

He looks away from the ring as the Iron Man suit, with Tony inside, is sent flying once again. Ouch. Natasha gives him a look, and he knows that she can sense his agitation, even if no one else would be able to. She’s still cool and collected, has somehow remained so throughout this whole mess. Then again, that’s Natasha for you. Clint can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen her panic – actually, he’d probably only need two fingers – and they’ve been through some ridiculous shit through the years.

She leans in close to him, her voice the barest whisper.

“Stark can handle himself. He’ll be fine. Relax. Take in the sights.”

Clint nods, acknowledging her coded suggestion. With everyone focused on the carnage in the ring, this is a good chance to scope out the Jotun. The arena they are in is built kind of like a baseball pitch, with staggered rows of benches surrounding the fighting arena, hundreds of Jotun crowding for space to get the best view of the Iron Man pummelling. It’s notably quieter than any sports crowd back home though, there is noise, but no yelling or cheering whenever the home team scores a point (which, given how the fight is going, would be often), which is kind of odd.

 Clint forces himself to pay attention to the little details, and to not get caught up in the whole ‘holy crap, they’re aliens’ thing, which is a bit difficult, given that the blue skin and markings and blood red eyes are pretty damn alien. But within a few moments he’s noticing things, like how the Jotun might not be shouting or talking but they’re constantly touching each other, always in movement. The general Jotun dress code seems to not consist of a whole lot, which means that it’s almost always skin on skin contact. Clint frowns. It seems a bit crazy, but just maybe….

He switches attention to their guards for a moment, leaning up a little at the same time to whisper to Steve, who is watching the fight with a horrified expression.

“Hey, Rogers, I think those guys are watching us.”

Steve immediately does what Clint had been counting on, and really obviously eyeballs the two guards, grip tightening on his shield.  One of the guards notices, and, sure enough, presses one palm to his counterpart’s bare shoulder for a long moment, after which the other guard turns to give Steve a suspicious glance. Bingo.  

“Should we do something?” comes Steve’s worried whisper.

“Nah, just thought you should know. Keep alert.”

Steve nods, and Clint pretends to join him in returning his attention to the fight, but really he’s storing this new information away, watching and learning. Now that he realises that the constant movement and jostling of the Jotun is some form of communication, it draws his attention to the one calm, still spot in the arena. Almost directly across from where Clint is standing, there’s a small raised platform, upon which is a throne seemingly crafted from ice. A respectful distance from it are two huge Jotun warrior types, serving to dwarf the small, delicate looking figure on the throne itself. Huh. So this is the king that Thor and the rest of Asgard are so damn worried about.

 He doesn’t look like much, too be honest. If Clint didn’t have a history of being underestimated himself then he’d be a bit confused as to why the Asgardians were getting their big Norse panties in a twist about this dude. But he knows that he can be more dangerous than fifteen Schwarzenegger types with grenades and machine guns, and he has a funny feeling that King Frosty might have the same shocks in store for anyone stupid enough to underestimate him.  

That said, it’s hard to see how this guy could be king. Everything about him is just so _different_ to the rest of the Jotun. Whilst they are giant and muscular, their king is small and lithe. Where they are constantly in motion, their king is so still that you could make the mistake of believing him to be crafted out of the same ice as his throne. And finally, whilst the rest of the Jotun are clad simply, with their arms and upper bodies bare and hair non-existent or hewn into short spikes, their king is clad head to toe in leather and dark furs, shoulder length black hair spilling out from beneath a gold ceremonial helmet. Only his hands and face are uncovered, although they might as well not be, given the blank expression on the king’s refined features. Either he finds gladiator matches incredibly dull, or he’s Natasha-levels of good at masking his real emotions.

Clint is betting on the second option, because the way the rest of the Jotun react to their king’s presence is not how people react to a weak king. There is none of the carefully hidden looks and gestures that is the mark of brewing rebellion, and the bent heads and respectful stances of the guards nearby contain no hint of mockery. Also, if Clint is right in his assumption about the Jotun’s primary method of communication, then the very fact that the king is clothed as he is is a statement of power in itself.  

There’s a sudden, loud, _crunch,_ from the arena, and Clint glances down to see that Stark’s Jotun opponent has wrenched one arm of the Iron Man suit right off. What’s worse is the bone that Clint can see through the ripped underarmour that’s revealed. Fuck fuck fuck, that is not good at all.

The panic at seeing one of his team mates so close to defeat pushes Clint into autopilot. He senses Natasha move behind him, restraining Rogers before he can dive straight down into the arena (thank Christ they’d sent Banner back to base after he’d de-hulked), as he switches his attention back to the king, hand moving to ready his bow. They can’t fight all of the Jotun to save Tony, but Clint can sure as hell train an arrow on the one guy with the power to stop this right now.    

Only he doesn’t get that far, as what he sees makes him pause. The king makes a minute movement, small enough and quick enough that if anyone else had been watching, they’d have probably missed it all together, but it’s there. A delicate motion of fingers, accompanied by a faint ripple in the air that trickles down into the arena below. There’s nothing for a moment. And then, the sound of…guitars? And....falsetto vocals? What in the ever-loving name of fuckery is going on and who turned on the jukebox?

He hears an inhalation of breath from Steve behind him, and although he really doesn’t want to look away from the king unless he does something else, he just has to.

“The suit, it’s working again.” Steve calls out, voice hopeful. “Stark must have managed to charge it somehow.”

“Impossible” mutters Natasha, but the evidence does seem to be right in front of them. Whereas before, the Iron Man suit had seemed ready for the scrap heap, now the thrusters (and music) are on and Tony is zipping around his startled opponent, dodging blows with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible, given the beating he’d been taking just moments before.

“He’s not firing.” Clint notes. Tony circles around in their direction, giving them a good look at his shattered arm. He needs to end this quickly or he’s going to pass out from blood loss. Really, it’s amazing that the man’s still conscious now. Stubborn bastard. “Why isn’t he firing?”

The suit circles again, picking up speed with each rotation, until it’s just a blur. Then, Tony swings in, too fast to be caught by his foe’s swinging arms, his one remaining gauntlet making contact with the Jotun’s head with a dull, audible thunk. Red eyes blink twice in apparent confusion, before rolling back as Tony’s opponent passes out, hitting the snowy ground with a crash.

Iron Man lands heavily, facing away from Clint, Natasha and Steve, towards where the king sits on his frost throne. To Clint’s surprise, there’s no Stark-patented cocky remark. Instead, the suit bends one knee, like an old-fashioned knight awaiting honour. The Jotun king nods his head, evidently approving, before getting to his feet. He calls out, in a clear voice, easily heard even at the other side of the arena.

“The Man of Iron is victorious. He has proved his honour to the Jotun, and any quarrel is no more.” There is some slight commotion, but no uproar at the king’s words. Four Jotun emerge from a doorway onto the arena floor, two of them heading over to attend to the unconscious frost giant, whilst Tony remains silent and still as the king now speaks directly to him, rather than to the crowd as a whole, although his words are still audible.

“You must have travelled here for some purpose. I will hear of it. My guards will escort you to the palace.”    

The other two Jotun that had entered the arena approach Tony, and he rises to stand between them. Then, without a single word, or question, or stupid joke, Tony bows to the king, then turns and marches between the two guards, letting them lead him through the same door they had entered, out of the arena.

“Uh...that seem like Tony Stark to you?” Steve asks, frowning.

“No. Not really. ‘Tasha?”

She shakes her head, but she’s not looking at them. Instead, she’s staring transfixed at the empty throne where, mere seconds ago, the king had been. But now, he's nowhere to be seen.

“You know,” Natasha starts, characteristically unruffled, “I think Asgard might be in for a surprise…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been a while, hope you like the chapter :)The next one should be less time coming as a) I am finished my exams in less than a week, and b) I finally get to write Tony/Loki interaction, yeehaa!


	8. Rule the eighth - Tonys and Lokis do not mix (so please handle volatile components with care)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Loki-time, yeah! Thanks so much to all of those who commented on the last chapter, it made me a very happy biscuit indeed. Here's hoping that this is to your liking :)

_“Welcome back sir.”_

“Urgh..”

Tony blinks, trying to make everything less dark and blurry. Unfortunately, even that tiny movement seems to prompt a wave of pain through what seems like every inch of him. He barely stifles a scream, it’s so bad.

“Jarvis…ah…Jarvis, am I dead? Where are all the dancing girls? I was…promised, ah…that hell had dancing girls.”

_“You are very much alive, and there are no dancing girls in close proximity. If you can get past that disappointment, I am being requested to ask whether you can feel your arm. I would run a scan, but said arm is currently outside the confines of the suit.”_

What?

Tony blinks again, blurrily making out the scans that Jarvis has flashed up on the darkened visor screen. They shows the status of the suit, and of Tony within it. They’re both pretty battered. The screen is showing what looks like a couple of cracked ribs and a whole ton of bruising, a lot of dents and surface damage to the suit and…nothing where the right arm of the suit (and more importantly, Tony’s right arm) should be.

His memory clicks into gear, it all coming back. Fighting The Hulk, fighting Big and Blue, dodging and swinging but losing, and…and…a huge hand gripping the shoulder plate of his suit, twisting and ripping it right off, his arm almost coming with it. Pain, pain, pain, alongside faint snatches of Jarvis (had he been talking to someone?)…the feeling of motion, a complete lack of control. It’s all so confused, so garbled, like a strange twisted nightmare with claws.

But Tony’s got the bruises to show for it, so apparently it all happened. He forces himself not to panic about the huge black gaps in his memory, not to give in to the pain, instead focusing on what Jarvis had asked. His arm. His arm was broken. And now…

Tony first tries wriggling his fingers, anticipating a bolt of pain even from that small movement. But instead, he just feels a strange numbness. His fingers move, but the motion feels strange, like his hand had been frozen in place until he’d decided to move it. He carefully turns his whole arm, so his hand faces up on the desk, and again, no pain. Well, no pain in his arm, at least.

“Arm’s…not broken, but it feels… _odd_. I could do with some explanation here.”

Tony can hear the panic in his own voice now, and he doesn’t like it. But still, at least it’s only…

“You could enable visibility now, Mr Jarvis. It should be safe.”

What? Who the hell is that? And what business does he have ordering Jarvis to do anything?

“Jarvis, don’t listen to whoever that is.” Tony frowns. “But, yeah, enable visibility. But because _I_ told you to, okay?”

 _“Of course sir, I shall endeavour to ignore King Loki’s request and to fulfil only your own.”_ Jarvis replies with more than a hint of snark, as the visor screen slowly lightens to allow Tony’s eyes to acclimatise to the light.

“Right. Good.”

The lines of a grand, arched ceiling gradually come into view, built of some glimmering, diamond-like substance. It’s pretty, breath-taking really, but not exactly what Tony cares about right now. No, he cares about the arsehole that has apparently been fucking around with his Jarvis. And his suit. But mostly Jarvis.

Tony tries to raise himself up, but a new wave of pain combined with the strange, rubbery numb feeling in his suitless arm has him gasping and falling back.

“I would not advise moving, Anthony Stark.” comes the unfamiliar voice again, and then the blue, strangely beautiful face of the Jotun king is peering down at him with apparent curiosity. Tony isn’t sure if it’s just the red eyes, but he feels like a scientific specimen laid out on a lab table. It’s not a feeling that he likes.

“ _An_ tony Stark? Who the hell are you, my grandmother? And I’ll move if I want to.” He thinks about trying again, just to show he’s serious, but his ribs hurt just thinking about it. “I’m comfy like this for now.”

“Your armour informed me that that was your name. Is it not?” The king frowns, the circular, raised markings spanning his brow moving slightly with the motion.

“Jarvis _told_ you that my name is Anthony Stark?” Tony questions sceptically.

“Hmm, he may have suggested some form of crass conjunction to begin with.” Tony grits his teeth. Obviously this is all one big funny game of fuck around with the stupid earthling. Well, he’s got another thing- ah!

“What the hell?!” Tony flinches away from the touch of cool, thin fingers tracing along the still semi-numb skin of his arm.

“Your arm is recovering well, I’m glad. I don’t have a great deal of experience in healing, especially not Midgardians.”

Tony should be thankful, he really should, but he’s sore and confused and really not liking being stared at like he’s some strange, exotic animal in a zoo. He can’t freak him out by staring right back, not with the suit still on, so words are all he has.

“So that’s what this was all about? Get your goon to smash up a silly little alien so that you can play doctor on the new and shiny?”

“As I recall,” the king’s hands continue to examine Tony’s arm, the strange numb feeling seeming to bleed away with each touch, “it was _your_ ‘goon’ that commenced the smashing. I merely acted to ensure that the following honour match was conducted fairly, as is my duty.”

“What?” in his fury, Tony forgets about remaining still, trying to raise himself up again and failing with a gasp and a few vehement swearwords. His remaining words are gasped out through gritted teeth. “ _Fairly?_ You took control of my _suit_ , while I was still _inside_.”

“I did attempt to consult with you, but you were…unavailable. The voice of your suit was most helpful. I merely provided a small energy boost.” The king takes a small step back, removing his hands from Tony’s arm. Goosebumps immediately start prickling the skin, now that Tony can feel the terrible coldness of the room.

Tony choses to ignore Sir Ice-a-lot for the moment, in order to berate his AI. “Jarvis, what have I told you about speaking with strangers?”

_“That I should respond to their requests in a helpful and cooperative manner.”_

“Now that really doesn’t sound like me.”

_“It is true that Miss Potts may have rephrased your initial instructions.”_

Oh, yeah, Tony remembers that well, come to think of it. Turns out Pepper hadn’t been too happy with Tony’s original great brainwave, which had involved Jarvis responding to all SHIELD personnel’s requests with a mix of novelty pop and Tony’s own (rather rude) alternate version of pig latin. It had been fun whilst it lasted, although annoyingly Agent Coulson had seemed rather amused by it. Fury had been great fun though.

“Those instructions weren’t for the _suit_.”   

_“They are my default instructions on how to respond to requests from those other than yourself. There are protocols in place for when someone attempts to seize physical control of the suit, but none for direct communication with an outside party.”_

Yeah, because no-one should be _able_ to talk directly to Jarvis whilst Tony’s in the suit. How was he meant to anticipate that he’d run into a weird meddling frost wizard?

Talking of weird meddling frost wizards, the king seems to have taken the chance to disappear off somewhere. Although given that Tony’s field of vision is currently somewhat limited, hiding wouldn’t take much more than stepping back a few paces.

“Hey! Your Kingliness?” Tony calls out. He uses his recovered arm to attempt to identify his location by touch. It would appear that he is lying on rough, thick furs, and Tony burrows his arm into them slightly, trying to gain some reprieve from the cold.

That seems to be on the king’s agenda too, as moments later Tony hears the whoosh of a fire being lit. Strange blue light flickers in waves against the sparkling ceiling, dancing like a rough, choppy tide. Almost immediately, the temperature readings displayed in a corner of Tony’s visor start rising.

“Honour matches are an old and sacred part of Jotun tradition.” comes the king’s voice, over to Tony’s left hand side. “I cannot say that I like them, but traditions have power.” There’s the faint clang of metal against metal, and for a moment Tony thinks that the king has drawn a sword, but the sounds that follow reassure him that no, he’s just tending the fire.

“There are rules that govern such matches. One of the most important is that both parties should commence the match on an equal standing. There is no honour in felling an injured opponent.”

Another clang, as the king returns the poker to its place. The new warmth, and the low tones of the kings voice are combining to make Tony somewhat drowsy, and if it he didn’t feel so damn sore and uncomfortable stuck in his suit, then he’d probably be giving in to relaxation right now, despite the annoyance that he still feels towards the king’s earlier actions.

“I had not seen a living suit of armour such as yours before. If I had, I would have been aware that it was not functioning, and of the disadvantage at which that placed you. When I realised, I acted in the only way I could to correct the imbalance.”

Huh. Said like that, the whole thing seems…kind of acceptable. The assorted comebacks and insults that Tony had been preparing halt at the tip of his tongue. Then the king steps back into Tony’s field of vision, a slight smirk twisting his lips.

“Of course, I care nothing for all of that ‘honour’ nonsense. The truth is, I find your armour interesting. The mind that crafted it, even more so. As there is little enough of interest here, it would be a shame to lose such a delightful distraction.”

And there it goes, the rug from right under Tony’s feet, _again._ He’s just glad that the suit is on and His Frostiness can’t see him gaping like a goldfish. How dare he? Okay, so Tony uses other, more dull people as a distraction, it’s one of his favourite pastimes. But this is different. Tony doesn’t _tell_ people that’s what he’s doing. And he respects people as smart as he is. At least, he would do if there were any.

The king clears his throat, stepping back. “Now, I have matters to attend to. Your…Jarvis…assured me that your suit can be removed without assistance. It should be safe to do so, now that your arm is healed. I will send in my most trusted healer to deal with any other injuries, and will return when I can.” A pause, and there’s that smirk again. “I’m sure you will appreciate some time to…gather your thoughts.”

Before Tony can respond to that last comment (which he’s pretty sure was meant to mockingly imply that he hasn’t been firing on all cylinders in the intellect department since he’d regained consciousness) the king disappears, quite literally into thin air. Apparently using the door isn’t flashy enough. Diva.

“Jarvis, what did I do to deserve this?”      

_“I believe there is a notion called karma, sir, that may be fitting in this circumstance.”_

Tony laughs despite himself. “Hey, whose side are you on here?”

_“As ever, I am your faithful servant.”_

Alright then, my faithful Jarvis, let’s remove this suit.” Tony twists his fingers into the fur underneath him, readying himself. “I want to know if I really am one giant bruise, or if it just feels that way. The suspense is killing me.”

 _“Your wish is my command.”_  

The suit starts folding away, starting with the chest panels. Tony stays as still as possible, so as not to jostle his injuries, and concentrates on coming up with ways to get his own back back on a certain arsehole king. 

As distractions go, it’s pretty successful.  


End file.
